Love Runs Before You Speak

The house is quiet now, and the question you need to ask feels heavier than the night itself. You are rehearsing the words in your head, terrified that needing a place to sleep makes you a burden.

But listen — the light does not measure worth by how much you can carry alone. There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the dust of the road, and he ran before the apology was even finished.

He did not wait for the speech. He did not wait for the shame to be cleaned up.

He ran. That same love is in the room where you are sitting right now.

It is not afraid of your need. It is not annoyed by your asking.

The light knows you are tired, and it knows you cannot do this by yourself. You are not a problem to be solved.

You are a friend to be welcomed.